


The White City and Her King

by just_ann_now



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, April Showers 2014, Drabble, F/M, Ficlet, Gen, Happy Ending, Humor, Post-War, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_ann_now/pseuds/just_ann_now
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles and ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Green

**Green**

A gasp, a choking cough, and then Faramir is gulping great lungsful of blessed, cool air.

At first, his nostrils are still full of the stench of burning, and he shudders, seeking escape. Strong arms are there to hold him, though, and gentle hands ease him down. A quiet voice speaks his name. 

A scent rises from somewhere close by: a green scent, neither fir nor new willow nor fresh-cut hay; something with the sharpness of yarrow underlain with the faintest tinge of apple blossom. Something he has not ever smelled before, but recognizes at once: the scent of hope.


	2. A Strong, Steady Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by these words from Charles De Lint's wonderful novel, Drink Down the Moon:  
>  _A brief flicker in the night  
>  Gone quick, but they burn so bright._

**A Strong, Steady Light**

Elladan reached upward, stretching out his back; Elrohir rubbed wearily at the bits of ash and cinders in his eyes. 

"Do you think it's worth it?" he whispered, gesturing towards the pallets of injured and dying men surrounding them. "All this, to save their lives, and for what? They are born to die; like fireflies, their lives flicker but briefly."

"Brief, but so bright," Elladan murmured. "Yet think instead of the sun, reborn each day. From age to age, the lives of Men glow with that same fierce brightness, blazing together into a strong, steady light that nothing can quench."


	3. A Good Prognosis

**A Good Prognosis**

 

“What d’ye mean, I’m to have only soup?” Merry’s voice grew louder, and more shrill, with each passing moment. The young server was courteous, but growing increasingly distressed, and she welcomed the White Lady’s intervention with obvious relief.

“ ‘Light diet’, indeed. Can you imagine such a thing? How am I supposed to get better, if I don’t eat?”

Éowyn, who up until that moment had had no interest in eating whatsoever, lifted the linen napkin covering the tray. There was not only soup, tantalizingly scented of lemon and dill, but also flaky rolls dripping with honey butter and fruit-topped custard.

Quite surprisingly, her stomach growled.

Merry let out a roar of laughter. “See! You’re ready to eat too! But we must have more than just soup - that wouldn’t keep a flea alive. The idea!”

Ioreth, listening behind the door, hurried to spread the word that these patients were, clearly, recovering.


	4. Pub Food

**Pub Food**

The evening’s first stop was _The Five Armies_. 

“Pub food?” Sorry, little masters, it’s not the food that brings ‘em in here, if you’ll take my meaning. But ho, boys! Gals, wait up! Don’t take anybody upstairs yet! Let’s drink a toast to the halflings, what saved our skins!” And so they drank.

_The Laughing Oliphaunt_. “Pub food? Well, we have these roasted groundnuts, and crispy salted breadsticks, but it’s mostly the beer folks come here for, if you’ll take my meaning, not the food. But ho, boys! Let’s drink a toast to these halflings!” And so they drank.

_The Bird and the Baby_. “Pub food?” The proprietor sniffed. We are not a _pub_. Our guests are educated men, keepers of ancient wisdom, you understand. Prince Imrahil himself stops by often, in fact, he’s here tonight...” 

“Ho, Prince Imrahil!”

“Ho, gentlehobbits! How are you enjoying our city?” He stepped closer, carefully examining Pip’s rather greenish glow.

“We’re looking for pub food,” Merry explained.

“Pub food! You’ll not find it here, this place is full of dandies and intellectuals. But _I_ know where to find pub food….” 

Tossing a coin to the somewhat offended proprietor, he led the hobbits away, down narrow streets, past fountains and courtyards to _The Rose Garden._

“Pub food? I’ll see what I’ve got. You all go sit in the garden, that little one looks sick.” Grabbing a bottle, Prince Imrahil led them outside to a small table. The roses were not yet in bloom, of course, but the apple trees were. From the far-off river they could hear frogs singing their lovesongs.

Soon, Ana returned carrying loaves of crusty bread, and green glass bottles of olive oil for dipping. There was soft white cheese, and roasted vegetables on skewers, and fish so fresh it must have leaped from the river straight into the cooking pan. There was much wine, and food, and laughter, and after a while Strider was there, and Faramir, and Prince Imrahil’s sons. Someone mentioned Boromir, and they were all sad for a moment, then Prince Imrahil told a story about how Boromir had been chased, screaming, by a huge seabird, and they all laughed, and then they told other Boromir stories, and then it was dawn, and they all had stagger home to their beds.

It was one of the best times the hobbits ever had, and some of the best food, too.


	5. No Pain, No Gain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a "Parallel Dialog" challenge - two different drabbles using the same dialog.

**No Pain, No Gain**

The First:

“It will hurt, won’t it.” Merry’s usually buoyant voice cracked, just a bit.

“Most probably,” Eomer agreed. “It does most of us. You’ll swear ‘Never again!’ while it’s happening, but you’ll forget all about the pain when you see the result. Think how proud you’ll be, showing it off!” Merry looked doubtful, but it was too late to turn back now. Prince Imrahil patted his shoulder encouragingly, while Frodo and Sam shook their heads in disbelief.

“Ready?” The tattoo artist picked up her needle; Merry squeezed his eyes shut. Eomer gripped his hands while Pippin nervously gnawed at a fingernail. 

***

The Second: 

“It will hurt, won’t it.” The Queen’s normally calm voice trembled, only slightly.

“Most probably, my lady,” the midwife agreed. “It does most of us. You’ll swear ‘Never again!’ while it’s happening, but you’ll forget about the pain when you see the result. Think how proud you’ll be, showing it off!” The Queen looked doubtful, but it was too late to turn back now, even if it were possible. 

“Ready?” The midwife slid Arwen’s knees apart, then reached between them. Arwen pushed; Eowyn gripped her hands while the King of Gondor and Arnor paced outside, nervously gnawing at a fingernail.


	6. Life Sentence

**Life Sentence**

 

Beregond had not imagined that the task would be so difficult.

“We…must…leave...the …City? But why?”

“I broke the law by shedding blood within the Citadel. The sentence was exile, but in his mercy, the King bid me serve for life in Ithilien.”

“It’s not fair! You did it to save Captain Faramir! Couldn’t he explain what happened, and then we wouldn’t have to …” The sound of his son’s strangled sob nearly broke Beregond’s heart. 

“It may not be fair, but it is just. We are King’s men now, and what our true liege commands, we are sworn to obey.”


	7. The Penitent (Added April 9, 2017)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted at the LJ community tolkien_weekly on March 7, 2007. For the "Sight" challenge.

**The Penitent**

When Elessar closes his eyes to sleep, he does not see the White Tree in flower, nor the glory of Gondor and Arnor restored; he sees the faces of those who gave their lives to that end. Those known and loved: _Gilraen. Théoden. Halbarad. Boromir._ Other faces and names, far past recall. Their sacrifice is not forgotten; his penance is to remember them, every night. 

When Elessar has begged forgiveness of every shade, he hears at last a whispered voice: _Cherished brother, revered captain, beloved king._ The words brush over him like a kiss of peace; only then will he sleep.


	9. Tea Party

**Tea Party**

Their eyes rake over her, head to toe; upraised goblets concealing their false smiles. A quirked eyebrow, a shrug, a whisper – subtle knives, unfamiliar weapons assembled against her. 

Yet Imrahil's lovely daughter stands by the window, eyes shining; surely there are some whose welcome is genuine? _I am Steelsheen's granddaughter. I slew the witch-king. I can face a roomful of women_ , she thinks, and then the Queen's fingertips brush against hers. 

_Courage, for us both_ , the Evenstar murmurs with the quick flash of a smile. Heads held high, together they move forward to begin their conquest of the city.


	10. October Morn

**October Morn**

Each morning upon rising Aragorn goes to the window, throws open the shutters, and breathes deeply, reveling in the scents and sights. Autumn mist veils the river while beech and birch and aspen trees glimmer golden on the hillsides. The smell of woodsmoke and damp earth mingles with the fragrance of the late, last roses. His long-awaited, long-fought-for kingdom lies drowsily at peace.

A rustling of silk, and then Arwen is there, wrapping her arms around him, her warmth and scent intoxicating. “Come back to bed,” she murmurs. “Your kingdom can do without you for another hour.”


	11. Like Breathing

**Like Breathing**

Éowyn would have been surprised to learn how Arwen envied her - not for gallant Faramir, nor her busy, purposeful life in Ithilien, but for how relaxed Éowyn was in motherhood, the delight she took in her children. 

Arwen had had few playmates, and none younger; her childhood songs were the furthest thing imaginable from the playful ditties Éowyn sang. Surreptitiously Arwen studied how Éowyn interacted with her children, joyfully, without sacrificing authority or respect. _How does she do that?_ Arwen wondered; if it were a skill to be learned, like archery, or an instinct to be embraced, like breathing.


	12. Reclaimed

**Reclaimed**

Trusted men, rangers and foresters not prone to exaggeration, reported what they had seen. The prince sent word to the king; they met near what once been the Black Gate and rode on, amazed.

Lupine and fireweed smoothed the jagged mountainside, blanketing the plain in color. Stands of willow and alder marked new watercourses where molten rock had once flowed. A kestrel wheeling overhead screeched and dived, doom to a hapless coney; while a doe and fawn peered wide-eyed from an elderberry thicket.

_No longer Gorgoroth, land of dread_ , murmured the King. This vale will be renamed: Reclamation. Renewal. Resurrection.


	13. Diplomacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A birthday gift for Soubie. In Soubie's story["A Man's A Man"](http://henneth-annun.net/stories/chapter.cfm?stid=5159) (in beta at HASA), Aragorn and Arwen's daughter is married to Faramir and Eowyn's son.

**Diplomacy**

"He has a Hurinionath nose!" The King reared back in shock at this first glimpse of his firstborn grandchild. 

He knew he wasn't supposed to say that; as king, he had certainly had enough newborns thrust at him for his approbation and blessing. He knew that most newborns are red-faced, squishy, ill-smelling...he was prepared for that. 

But that nose! It was Denethor's nose, long and pointed; he had been looked down at from that snooty nose often enough. He hated that nose, symbolizing as it did Denethor's arrogant contempt. But, on the other hand, it was Boromir's nose, too, which he had studied in profile from across so many campfires, so long ago. How he missed Boromir, nose or not, missed his courage and loyalty and his absolute devotion to Gondor. And it was also Faramir's nose, that distinguishing characteristic that he had bewailed to his friend and king when in his cups, early in their friendship. He loved that nose, as he loved his dearest friend. But it was also Elboron's nose, the nose of a wicked seducer, a man who had wheedled and charmed his innocent daughter....

The latest bearer of the nose stirred, twitched it twice like a coney, sneezed softly, and settled back to sleep. Aragorn looked up, smiling. 

"It's a very distinguished nose, a nose full of history and nobility. A nose that has been borne by some of the finest men I have ever known. It's an honor to have such a nose in our family."

Ellë cried, "Oh, Ada, that's so sweet!" bursting into tears as she threw herself into his arms. She smelled both sour and milky. He winked at Arwen over Ellë's shoulder; the Queen rolled her eyes . Éowyn choked on her tea, trying hard not to laugh.


	14. Reunion

**Reunion**

Faramir agreed to the idea without question. The swiftest messengers were dispatched to Éomer, suggesting a date and time, a well-known meeting spot by the Anduin. Aragorn was gratified by the immediate response, not thinking how strictly the invitation would be interpreted. He was not used to thinking of himself as King. 

The fire burning low before them and mugs of good mulled wine in their hands, they shared memories of those they loved best: Boromir, Théodred, Théoden. Faramir, gazing up at the stars, wondered if those names would still be remembered, with love and honor, a thousand years hence.


End file.
